


Magic on the Field

by makingitwork



Series: Peter/Stiles [20]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt Stiles, Lacrosse, M/M, Protective Peter, Spark Stiles, soul mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 16:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5672209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and lacrosse</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic on the Field

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by:
> 
> Fandomslove85 who said 'how about Peter goes to one of Stiles' lacrosse games and Stiles gets hurt? And Peter feels awful bc he has to wait to help. So after the game Peter comforts Stiles.'
> 
> I think I kinda messed this prompt up :( Sorry, but I tried for you! xxx

Peter doesn't like going to Stiles' lacrosse games. 

Stiles doesn't ask him to come either. He's embarrassed that he doesn't ever get to play, that his dad comes to watch his son sit on the bench the entire time while Scott scores point after point and Jackson makes impossible passes and Stiles has counted over 5,000 blades of grass. 

But then Jackson breaks his leg and Stiles is fourteen and he gets to play and he's so insanely pumped by it that he goes around telling everyone who'll listen and begs Peter and the Sheriff to come to his game. John can't, and makes it up to Stiles by taking him out for hamburgers and buying him a new comic book, promising to come next time and watch it on whichever citizen decides to record it. Stiles is bursting with excitement, fourteen and high-fiving strangers.

Peter sits in the stands, everyone's wrapped up warmly, and the pitch is lit up with lights, and the game begins. 

Peter bites his lip, tapping his foot against the metal stand in agitation. He can single Stiles' scent out from all the others there, and his heartbeat, but he doesn't like being a spectator from so far away. 

Stiles is...well, he isn't  _bad._ He's enthusiastic, and he can manage a half decent throw, and his reflexes are good, but he's no Scott or Danny, he's not extraordinarily fantastic or brilliant. It's in the second half of the game, when the stick from one of the members of the other team jerks it back and it catches Stiles eyebrow, Peter leaps up. He can smell the pain, but Stiles' adrenaline is so high the kid doesn't feel it, and accepts an easy sorry from the other guy and continues to play.

'You have to take him off the pitch!' Peter tries to convince the annoying brown haired coach who just isn't listening, his eyes trained on the players. 'He's  _hurt.'_

'I saw it, Bilinski's fine,'

' _Stiles Stilinski_ isn't fine! He's hurt! You have to let me drain his pain, or take him to a nurse! I can get a doctor, or his god-mother's a nurse-'

'Okay, I don't know who you are, but he's fine, and it can wait until the end of the game!' He blows his whistle, yelling at some kid, and Peter's wolf is pawing desperately trying to surface, to help his mate.

The game lasts another hour, and it's the most agonising hour of Peter's life, but Stiles' team wins, and Stiles sprints to him afterwards, smelling of grass and sweat and a bit of blood. 'That. Was. Awesome!' He grins, but Peter's eyes are focused on the rapidly forming bruise above Stiles' eyebrow, he drains Stiles' pain and rubs his thumb over it, frowning 

'he hurt you.' He says softly

Stiles rolls his eyes and ducks away, jogging ahead a little in the night, and Peter quickens his pace 'who cares? We won! WOOO! I am King of the World!'

Peter doesn't want to point out that Stiles didn't score a single point. Doesn't want to tell Stiles that he spent the whole time sat there, worried beyond comprehension. That he never wants to go to another game again. Instead he smiles, and tucks Stiles in, though the boy insists he's too pumped to sleep. He noses Stiles' hair when the boy is sleeping, and hides when John checks on his boy. 

Stiles doesn't get to play in every game after that, and after Coach tells him he's been benched, Stiles throws himself into maths, and smells of bitter disappointment. 

'Come on, man,' Scott tries 'you're still part of the team even if you're not playing.' He nudges his brother 'I like having you there.' 

Stiles sighs dejectedly 'I don't wanna be the best. I don't even want it to impress Lydia, I just want to be part of it. It's like the pack, Scott. I'm there, but I'm not quite  _there,_ am I?' He set the controller down and draws his knees up to his chest, voice dropping a bit lower, but Peter can hear everything from downstairs 'I'm not a wolf, and I'm not a Banshee, and I'm not  _anything._ I'm not a Hale, I'm just me.'

'Stiles,' Scott sounds hurt 'you're pack. You're my pack. And you're the best member. You do everything, Stiles. You don't need to be supernatural or a Hale, you just have to be you.'

...

...

...

'Peter, please?' Stiles asks, dragging a finger down Peter's chest, nipping kisses onto his collar. He's seventeen, and he's lying on his side on his bed, looking up at Peter through those long, tempting eye-lashes. 'Just one game. Please? I don't make you come to the others? This is the last one of the season. I promise not to get hurt?' He grins, nipping at Peter's throat 'ppllleeeaaassee? I'll do  _anything.'_

Peter pretends to ponder 'anything, hm?'

'Mmhmm,'

'Even let me put you in a tux and take you dancing?' 

Stiles rolls his eyes but nods 'yeah, I'll even wear those horrible shoes you got me. And that fancy watch.'

Peter wraps his hands around Stiles' waist eagerly 'then I suppose I could come watch.'

It's better now. 

Stiles is better.

He's taller, and training with the pack have given him muscles, his reflexes have gotten better, and there's the case of the magic. Peter's unsure of it yet, he watches Stiles carefully, certain that sometimes he sees the faintest flicker of gold in those amber eyes, or the flashing of silver over his shoulder, but nothing yet. In any case, it gives Stiles the small sense of being able to tell when something's about to hit him. 

Stiles is graceful on the field.

He and Scott move in near sync, and Jackson throws to Stiles, and Peter wishes he'd been there to see when that development had occurred. Stiles is one of the better players, he realises with a huge sense of pride, as good as Danny. Stiles scores three points out of the team's winning seven, and doesn't even suffer any injuries. He hugs his dad, who ruffles his hair, and then leaps onto Peter, wrapping his legs around his waist and kissing him silly.

Jackson makes a face when they separate, but pats Stiles' back 'good work, Stilinski. Try to keep that for the bedroom though.'

Stiles grins at him 'don't act like you don't love it, Jackson.'

Jackson grimaces, but there's the faintest glimmer of humour in his eyes, and Peter smiles.

...

...

...

It's a couple of months after their mating ceremony. 

Peter and Stiles are lying beside each other on the grass, looking up at the sky. 

'I used to think couples who did this in movies were beyond annoying.' Stiles says, moving onto his side to curl into Peter's shoulder. Peter has an arm resting under his head and he smiles 

'but you realise that you are too completely and utterly in love with me.'

Stiles strokes the silver wolf pendant softly and nods 'yeah, that's pretty much it. Also, I like kissing you in public.'

Peter strokes a thumb over Stiles' shoulder, feeling the green plaid shirt and smiles 'I enjoy that too.'

'Peter Hale?' Comes a voice, and both Stiles and Peter sit up, blinking against the sun, looking up at the tall blonde woman. Stiles thinks she's an old friend, but Peter recognises the scent. She's related to Kate Argent. He can smell the silver bullet in her gun, the one she's reaching for. His mind is racing, he can't move, and Stiles is still pressed against his shoulder. God, she won't kill Stiles will she? She can't. He won't let her- he's already started moving himself in better position to get hit to save Stiles, because he's not fast enough to get away from the bullet. He won't be, he won't be-

there's a ringing gun shot and

nothing.

Peter scrambles away when he realises what's happened.

The woman is frozen, paused, as though she were in a DVD, and she's holding her gun, almost bent over, as Stiles, crouched on the ground, is looking up, one hand up, the bullet hovering a mere centimetre from his palm. 

Peter stares.

'Wolfie,' Stiles whispered, he's sweating, straining, this is straining him, he's in pain, Peter comes forward, amazed. 'W-what's happening? What's happening?'

'You...' he swallows 'you  _stopped_ the bullet.'

Stiles croaks a little 'I thought you'd say that.'

The air is flickering, almost rippling around where it's happening, and Peter reaches forward, taps the bullet, and it falls useless to the ground. He then takes the gun, crumples it with his Alpha strength and nods at Stiles. 'You can stop now.' He says, it's so unnerving to see that blonde hair so still. 

'Wish I knew how,' Stiles whimpers, and he falls forward, one hand bracing him up from the grass, the other still upwards, still keeping everything frozen. 

'Stiles,' Peter whispers, cupping his mates fate 'come on, look at me, look at me-' 

Stiles looks at him, tears pooling in his eyes 'it  _hurts.'_ He whispers 'I think I'm dying, Wolfie.' He's shaking now, every inch of him 'I love you- I love you so much.'

'Stiles!'

Stiles collapses onto the grass, the woman falls too, and Peter holds Stiles. He hears a strong, sturdy heartbeat, but no breathing.

Suddenly pure amber light explodes from Stiles' body, and Peter is hurled backwards.

'Stiles?!' Comes a voice, it's Scott, and he's staring in awe as Stiles emits the twinkling lights.

Other people around the park are starting to look now, and Peter rushes to Stiles, eyes closed, as he lifts his boy up, shielding him, and rushing to safety.

...

...

...

The entire pack are there, wearing specialised sunglasses that Deaton gave them, as Stiles lies on the table, a pillow under his head, still in his jeans and plaid shirt, still emitting a pure amber light. 

'I think it goes without saying that this is highly unusual.' 

Derek growls 'we know it's unusual, Deaton. We want to know what it is. A curse? Is he going to be alright?'

'He isn't breathing.' Peter reminds 'are you going to do anything about that?'

'It's very difficult to examine and take a sample of light,' Deaton says calmly, 'his vitals are fine, and no- he's not breathing, the light is taking care of him. I don't believe it to be a curse. His body is getting all the oxygen he needs. I called B-'

'Where is he?' Comes the voice, and the pack startles, aside from Deaton, and Peter growls

'Ben.' He grits his teeth as the witch walks in. The man nods politely at Peter, and then at Scott, the head of the pack, and turns his attentions to Stiles. He's smiling. 

'Pack Emissary Stiles Stilinski,' he murmurs, 'it's been too long since I've seen him.' He places a hand on Stiles' forehead. 'It's unnatural, to see him so still. I remember him always moving. He's still like that now, I imagine.' 

'What is he?' Derek asks, and the pack are staring curiously 

'He's a spark.'

Derek stumbles forward, touches Stiles' ankle 'A spark?'

Ben looks at Peter, a knowing shine in his eyes, and Peter keeps his eyes firmly on Stiles. 'A spark. He has a witch ancestor somewhere. Most people do, and live without ever realising because you need more than just enough magic in your blood. You need a dash of something else. Something rare and wonderful. Something much stronger than that.' They're all looking at him and Ben shrugs 'we don't know what it is, though. That's why we don't know that much about Sparks.' 

'Why isn't he waking up?' Peter asks desperately, and Ben nods 

'all his magic is surfacing at once. His body's trying to get used to it. He's going to need a teacher, learn how to harness it, control it.' He looks at Deaton 'I could settle down here for a while. Till he knows what he's doing. Specialised training sessions.' He looks at Scott 'you're very lucky to have a spark in your pack. They're incredibly rare and highly valued. It should make relationships for your pack immensely easier if you specify a spark. Very few Alpha wolves are going to want to fight one. They're not like witches. Not easy to overcome with a bit of salt water and good timing, Sparks are more than that. More human, stronger, cleverer.'

'He's right.' Derek nods 'Sparks are revered in some cultures.'

'Try not to startle him, or shock him. His magic is temperamental. It'll respond to his emotions.' He waves a hand over Stiles' head, murmurs something in latin, and the amber light slowly seeps back into Stiles' body. Ben steps back, and Stiles groans softly 

'Hey guys,' he says gruffly, smiling a little. He sits up, rubbing his head 'is everyone alright?' They nod, and Stiles looks at them, rubbing the back of his neck 'do I have something on my face?'

'Do you remember what happened, Stiles?' Peter asks, and Stiles shivers, so Peter wraps his jacket over him. Holding him close 

'About the bullet? Yeah. That was a little freaky. Was it a curse or something?' He turns to look at Deaton, before he swirls his head the other way, gaping at Ben. 'Ben?! What are you doing here?' Everyone gasps, and Stiles looks down at his hand, and realises it's on fire. He brings it close to his face in amazement, turning to look at Peter. 'What is happening?'

'You're a Spark, Stiles,' Ben says, and Stiles blows a bubble that pops with the gum he has in his mouth. He freezes.

'When did I get gum?'

'Your magic is going to be unpredictable for a bit, Stiles,' Ben says softly 'we're going to try and help. All of us.'

...

...

...

'Yes, yes, yes, yes,' Stiles hisses, head tipped back as Peter rams into him again and again 'I love you, I love you-'

'I fucking love you.' Peter growls, and the two of them cum with a cry. 

And then Peter stares up as purple feathers float down over them. He looks at Stiles, who blushes, and Peter chuckles, plucking a feather from the air, and tracing Stiles' eyes with them. 

'Gorgeous little spark.'

'Wolfie,'

The feathers burst in the air and turn into skittles.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt me ya gorgeous fools   
> x


End file.
